


A Parallel World

by Whedonista93



Series: Queen of Dale [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, Minor Original Character(s), The Valar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: The Valar offer Buffy a chance to fight in a world without her own demons.
Series: Queen of Dale [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577443
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

Yavanna chuckles before she can stop herself. The hell goddess, who has been complaining for the better part of an hour about the human who thwarted her, spins and glares.

"You think this is funny?!" She screeches.

Yavanna smiles serenely. "Quite. What was your name again, dear?"

"Glory," the other goddess answers, clearly thrown.

"You're not of my world."

"Nah," Glory shoves a hand through her unruly curls. "Little Miss Slayer throwing herself into the portal fucked with some kind of dimensional rift and threw me here."

"She threw herself into a portal to save her world?"

"Yeah. Didn't even die, either. Her little witchy friend brought her back… pretty sure she dragged her ass out of heaven, though, so at least there's some consolation in that."

  
*

"You are the one they call Slayer?"

Buffy startles and whirls, sword at the ready. She's not sure what she's expecting, but she's not prepared for an ethereal blonde watching her serenely. "Uh…"

"You are the one called Slayer?" the woman asks again.

"Who's asking?" Buffy hedges, peripherally aware of the demon still lurking somewhere in the trees around them.

"I am Yavanna."

Buffy looks her up and down. "Goddess?"

Yavanna's lips quirk up. "Some would call me such."

"Haven't had the greatest experiences with goddesses."

Yavanna's lips curl up further. "Glory, you mean? We're acquainted. She does not like you."

"Feeling's mutual."

"I presumed as much. Is it truth that you sacrificed yourself for this world?"

_More than once_ , Buffy thinks. "Yes," she answers.

Yavanna's eyes go unfocused, seeing beyond the surface, as she looks at Buffy. "How many times, child?"

Buffy's sharp smile doesn't reach her eyes. "A few."

"You are not the only warrior in this realm."

Buffy shrugs. "Not anymore."

"Would you like to go to another?"

Buffy almost drops her sword. "What?"

"This world is well guarded now. Mine is not, and an evil is coming."

Buffy scoffs. "So you want me to sacrifice myself for your world? No thanks."

"No," Yavanna shakes her head. "I want you to _live_ for my world. Fight for it."

"Why?"

"Because my people need someone who understands sacrifice, but will fight until it is the last resort."

Buffy finally hears the demon move. "Hold that thought." She turns on her heel and lunges, sword extended, into a dense thicket of pine saplings, and comes back a few minutes later dragging the corpse of a beast that doesn't look dissimilar to an orc. "You were saying?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Slayer!" Spike's voice draws Buffy from her thoughts.

"Huh?" She looks at him, still slightly unfocused.

"Where's your head at, pet?"

Buffy shrugs, still too preoccupied to protest the nickname. 

"Bollocks. Talk to me."

She visibly hesitates.

"Buffy." He says her name softly, some kind of promise behind it.

She sighs. "I think I'm leaving."

"Okay… uh… right, no, I'm lost."

"When I was hunting in the woods the other night, I met someone. A goddess called Yavanna."

"Never heard of her."

"I have," Anya's voice comes from over Buffy's shoulder. "Why is one of the Valar talking to you?"

"Valar?" Buffy asks as Anya joins them at the table.

Anya nods. "The Valar are the gods of Middle Earth. Their world runs sort of parallel to ours. They'll likely cross paths one of these days.” The ex demon frowns. “But they shouldn't yet."

"They want me to come to their world."

"No bloody way!" Spike protests.

Anya cocks her head to the side. "Why?"

"Some big evil coming. They think with someone like me fighting, there'll be less destruction and death and sacrifice."

"But, why you? There are warriors in other realms."

Buffy smirks. "Because Yavanna met Glory. And Glory really doesn't like me. Guess that automatically endears me to the Vala."

"Valar," Anya corrects. "Are you going to go?"

Buffy shrugs. "I'm thinking about it. This world, it has people besides me to protect it now. And it hasn't really felt like home. Not since…"

"Heaven," Spike finishes for her when she trails off.

She nods.

"You're going, then."

Buffy looks up at him sharply.

He leans forward and cups her face in his hands. "How many times I gotta tell you at least one of us ought to to be _ living _ , Slayer? You've spent long enough just surviving. Maybe a new world's what you need, love."

Buffy starts to blink back her tears, then gives in and buries her face in Spike's shoulder.

Anya slips out silently.

  
  


Anya and Spike are surprisingly subtle allies. Neither breathes a word of Buffy's impending departure as they help her gather what she'll need. In the end, she has three large trunks, and a notion that she's gonna have to find a horse pretty much right away. The larger trunk is full of weapons; swords and daggers and axes, a crossbow and a traditional bow and all sorts of arrows - including some heavy iron expertly crafted shafts that Buffy doesn't really want to think about the kinda of beasts that would need something like that to take them down - and even a spear. And if a few stakes make their way in there, no one calls out her sentimentality. The smallest trunk contains coins - well unmarked disks of precious metals, at least - and gems. Buffy dutifully does not ask either Anya or Spike where any of it came from. The final trunk is mostly clothes - lots of leather, even by Buffy's standards - more breeches than skirts, flowy linen shirts and sturdy vests and boots.

When the day comes that they all agree she's ready to go, Buffy spends a solid five minutes standing in the middle of the storage unit they've been using just staring at the three neatly stacked trunks.

Spike lays a hand on her shoulder. "Sunrise is in 'bout two hours, Slayer. If we're gonna go…"

Buffy shakes herself out of her head and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

Spike nods, and helps her load the trunks. They let Anya drive, and Buffy spends the whole ride to the woods silently curled into Spike's side. They lug the chests to the clearing where Buffy first met Yavanna.

"You'll tell everyone…" Buffy trails off 

"We'll take care of everything." Anya reassures.

Buffy hugs her, then steps back. "How do I look?"

Anya eyes her critically, from her tightly laced, knee-high riding boots, to her supple leather breeches, to her tucked in linen shirt, to the beautifully tooled bracers on her wrists, to the soft leather coat flung over trunks, then back to her face - no makeup and hair braided back. 

Anya nods. "You'll do." The ex-demon spins on her heel and all but runs back toward the road and car, not so subtly wiping at her cheeks.

Spike takes Buffy's hand and squeezes it. "Ready, Slayer?"

Buffy nods. "As I'll ever be." She goes up on her toes, kisses him on the cheek, then steps away. "Take care of Dawn."

Spike nods. "'Course."

Buffy leans back against the chests and wraps one hand around the pendant hanging from her neck. She closes her eyes. "I'm ready."


	3. Chapter 3

When Buffy opens her eyes again, she's on the plains of somewhere. She can see mountains not too far off. She takes a few deep breaths, then stands. She opens her clothes chest and pulls out a small leather money pouch and a leather satchel. She fills the purse, pulls a sword from the weapons chest, thanks the Valar profusely when she finds a nearby cave to hide the chests in, then sets off in search of civilization, silently lamenting the lack of GPS.

Close to nightfall, she manages to stumble across a farm house and thanks the Valar again when she's greeted warmly.

"A bit late for a lass to be traveling these parts alone," the kindly old farmer remarks.

Buffy blushes. "Honestly, I'm not sure where these parts are. Had a bit of an accident a few days ago. My horse and my map were casualties."

The farmer grimaces. "That storm, was it, lass?"

Buffy nods, grateful for the excuse.

The old man chuckles. "Bad luck, that. You're in the realms of Rohan. Come in, please. My wife's got a stew on. Share our supper and borrow our roof for the night. I'm for the capital on the morrow. Most of a day's travel with a horse and cart, but might be you can find help there, or a horse if you've the coin."

Buffy bites her lip, forcibly reminds herself that this isn't her world and people really are this genuine and welcoming in this kind of society, and nods gratefully. "I would appreciate that. Thank you."

The old man and his wife are both kinder than anyone ever needs to be. She tucks a bright red ruby under the pillow of the bed they loan her for the night, and drops a neat little stack of coins into the farmer's jacket when he sets it on the seat between them after they stop for lunch the next day. 

He helps her down from the cart at the city gates and pats her hand. "There's a gent called Hamir on the east side of the city. Fair sort, won't try to cheat ya just for bein' a woman. Best of luck to you, lass."

Buffy kisses him on the cheek. "Thank you."

She meanders through the streets slowly. She finds Hamir's just before sunset and notes the stables’ location before going back to an inn and paying for a room for the night. She goes back to Hamir's shortly after sunrise. The man in the pasture next to the stalls is intimidatingly tall, and - Buffy's inner Faith voice tacks on - _built like a brick shithouse_ , but his dark eyes are kind.

"Can I help you, m'lady?" The man asks, looking amused at Buffy's scrutiny. 

Buffy blushes. "Sorry, I'm being rude. I'm looking for Hamir."

"You've found him."

Buffy beams. "Someone told me you were the man to see about a horse."

Hamir chuckles. "This is Rohan, lass, you could talk to many men about horses."

Buffy quirks an eyebrow. "How many that won't try to take advantage because I'm foreign and a woman?"

Hamir nods in acknowledgement of that. "Fair. What are you looking for, lass?"

"One to pull a cart, and maybe eventually a plow. Another to ride, not shy of loud noises or enclosed spaces. Saddles and tack."

Hamir eyes her more critically. "A little thing like you wants a war horse?"

Buffy holds his eyes.

Finally, he nods. "Aye. I can see the fight in you… are you a strong rider?"

Buffy thinks of the stable on the edge of woods outside London and the lessons Arya insisted on when they started planning this. She shrugs. "I'm not bad."

"Mind if I judge that?"

Buffy watches patiently as he cuts a chestnut mare from the little herd in the pasture.

He gestures to a saddle on the fence. "Saddle her."

Buffy climbs the fence and hops down slowly, careful not to startle the herd, and approaches the mare, hand extended. She waits for the mare to nuzzle into her palm before she starts the process of saddling her.

When she turns back to Hamir, he's cut and saddled a second mount, and is looking at her with faint approval. "You're a natural."

Buffy heaves herself into the saddle. "Trust me, did _not_ start out that way." 

"Follow me."

Before Buffy can respond, Hamir has guided his horse over the pasture fence and set a steady pace toward the plains. Buffy curses and follows. Hamir speaks occasionally, telling her to do this or that, but mostly sets different places across various terrains and expects her to follow. Buffy is sweating, but more at peace than she's been in months, by the time they return to the pasture.

Hamir nods in obvious approval. "Aye, lass, you ride well. Good instincts, quick reflexes. Tell me again what you need besides the mounts?"

"Saddle and tack for both, a cart. And a map."

Hamir grins. "The map I'll give you for a smile, lass, and I can provide the rest, but…"

"I can afford it," Buffy promises, sensing his train of thought. She pulls the coin purse from her belt and shakes it lightly. 

He chuckles. "Straight forward type. I like that. Wouldn't go flashing that much coin around, though, lass. Not everyone is as honest as I am."

Buffy laughs. "I appreciate the thought, but I can take care of myself."

Hamir hums thoughtfully. "Aye. I believe that."

They spend the next several hours picking out two horses, tack, and a sturdy cart and negotiating prices. In the end, Buffy ends up with a demure gray mare and a spirited roan stallion that's back is nearly as high as her head. Hamir sends her off with a recommendation to have a custom saddle made for the roan and an admonishment to give them both good names.

She spends the remainder of the day in the markets, trying to remember what foodstuffs Anya told her would last the longest without going bad and picking up necessities she hasn't brought along - heavy iron pans for cooking, a bedroll, parchment with ink and quills,etc. She finds the map she'd forgotten about needing when she makes camp for the night, several hours outside the city, and quietly asks Yavanna to bless Hamir.

By the time she finds the cave she stashed her belongings in and loads everything onto her little cart, she's no closer to deciding where to go long term than she was when she arrived, and she's suddenly mourning the loss of the internet, but not as much as she's mourning the loss of showers.

She finds a secluded little spring about a week and a half after hurtling herself across dimensions and into Middle Earth and strips gratefully, uncaring if anyone does manage to trip across the little clearing. She scrubs every inch of herself until she feels raw before dragging herself back to her cart and wrestling her clothing trunk open. She yanks on the first undergarments and blouse she finds, then has to dig for breeches and socks. She freezes when her hand lands on a patch of black leather she doesn't remember packing. She draws the item out. Spike's duster. The thought of Spike intentionally sneaking this into her things makes her knees give out and she collapses onto the ground in sobs, her first real wave of homesickness finally hitting her.


End file.
